


(for thy love is) better than wine

by novacorps



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, this is just porn but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novacorps/pseuds/novacorps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy is no stranger to wanting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(for thy love is) better than wine

Roy is no stranger to wanting. 

If he's honest with himself -- and really, he rarely is -- he could look back upon his life and recognize that he's always been somewhat of an addict. That there has always been something he's craved more than air, that once he has something, Roy just gets bored and starts looking for the next high, the next weakness, the next, the next.

It's taken Roy so much time to recognize the things he's addicted to ( _family drugs alcohol people_ ). It's taken him years and near-death to reign those cravings into something he can control, something he has power over. Some days, Roy can walk past a drunken group of college kids and not even flinch. Some days, the smell of cigarette smoke makes him want to relapse. 

It's a curve, healing. It's time-consuming and hard and painful. It's also given Roy insight. 

There are intensities to want. Nuance to addiction. It's impossible to paint them all with the same brush so Roy divides them somewhat like this: 

Oliver want. The days he wants to pick up a phone and dial a number he knows by heart, to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, to return. This is the easiest to dismiss. It is also the hardest. Roy stares at his phone's keypad, shuts his eyes, and backspaces. 

Nicotine want. The days he wants a cigarette, the days he wants to feel breath-warm smoke in his lungs, the feeling of embers at the tips of his fingers. Aggravated, sometimes, when Jason walks in smelling of tobacco. Roy buys himself lollipops and sucks on them until his lips and tongue are bright blue. 

And always, always, of course, there are the days where ants crawl under his skin and Roy wants to shake, the days every bar is temptation divine, when the track marks on his arm itch and ache. Those are the days he dreads, and every time he walks away, still sober, still clean, the heaviness in his chest is lighter, the empty ache in him is smaller. 

Roy knows what it is to want, deeply, intimately. The way he feels about Jason blows all of them out of the water. 

It isn't healthy. That much is obvious, even to Roy, who knows -- he knows his judgement isn't always the greatest. He barrels between having no self-control and too much of it. He lives and breathes extremes. But wanting to run your hands across scarred, tan skin, every glimpse of it a battle for your breath; wanting to bite at pink lips, to turn them red and flushed with blood; wanting to lick the sweat out of the hollow of a collarbone; to drown in blue-green eyes, the dip of a dimple--

It's not healthy. But when has that stopped Roy, anyways?

"You're staring. Again."

Jason's voice is three parts amused, two part confused. He snaps his fingers in front of Roy's face, the click of them snapping Roy out of his reverie. To his credit, Roy doesn't jump, just smiles wide and bright, saying, "It's not my fault you're right in front of me when I'm thinking!"

"I mention it because it happens a lot," Jason drawls, kicking his feet up against the coffee table. They're sitting curled on the couch together, Roy's unfortunate concussion giving them a day off to watch obscene amounts of Netflix and eat terrible food. Roy rolls his eyes.

"Jason. I don't know if you've noticed this, but we are around each other. A lot."

Jason smirks. "Believe me, I know. It's the saddest part of my life, currently."

Roy whacks him on a thigh, the feel of corded muscle jumping under his fingers a short and unexpected rush. His breath hitches, so softly Jason can't have heard over the sounds of the television.

"You're so mean to me. I have a concussion, you know," Roy pouts. Jason looks him over, grinning like an asshole. 

"You want me to kiss it better?" he asks, puckering his lips at Roy. It should look unappealing, but Jason's mouth is stained red from the candy he's been sucking at and his hair is mussed and soft, white streak falling into his eyes.

It should look unappealing, but it's not. Not to Roy.

Roy, who averts his eyes lightning-fast, the knots of his stomach matching the size of the lump in his throat. This time when he catches his breath, he knows Jason has heard it. 

"What if you did?" Roy replies, still not looking at Jason. He's proud of how even his voice is, even as his entire being tries to twist itself into so much string. 

The sound of the television playing on is almost deafening in the silence that stretches endless between Jason and Roy. 

Roy's berating himself, every angry self-loathing thought whispering in his mind, stupid, stupid, _stupid_. But Jason shifts, the hot line of his body pressing against Roy's side, and then:

"Okay," Jason murmurs. His breath is hot against Roy's ear, the side of his face. There's the feel of day-old stubble scraping at his skin, the barest brush of chapped lips at his cheekbone, moving up Roy's face to press a single, wet kiss to his temple.

Roy's heartbeat thunders in his chest, the sound of it like explosions in his ears. His fingers twist in his hoodie -- Jason's hoodie, now that Roy thinks about it, the soft red cotton just a little too long for him, and that shouldn't make him hotter but it _does_ \--and he almost doesn't catch the whimper in his throat when Jason says, "Better?", the words exhaled against Roy's too-hot face. "Or do I try again?"

Roy has to try to catch his breath before he says, "It's important to be empirical."

Jason laughs at that, the rumble moving through him and into Roy. Jason's arms snake around him, turning Roy to face Jason. He still looks away, avoiding eye contact, because he knows, Roy knows, he can't look into Jason's eyes. Not now.

"First rule of science, right?" Jason's breath ghosts against his skin, smelling candy sweet. "So where do I start?"

Roy tilts his head back, exposing his throat, the too-fast beat of his heart. Jason makes a sound of approval at that, ducking down to press dry lips against Roy's pulse point, his jugular, the sandpaper scrape of Jason's stubble a stark contrast to the smooth, soft feel of his lips. He just kisses up and down the column of Roy's throat, soft, dry kisses, no hint of teeth or tongue or even pressure, in all honesty. Just.... kissing, and Roy shouldn't be getting so worked up over gentle brushes of Jason's mouth.

He shouldn't, but Roy's so hard he's practically wet with it, his cock leaking pre-come, pressed up against his stomach. He wants to get a hand on himself, desperately, but Jason's hands encircle his wrists and Roy can't bring himself to pull away. He wants to look down, to see if Jason is even half as into this as he is, but from where Roy's sitting, half in Jason's lap but mostly not, he can only see the top of Jason's head as he works at Roy's throat.

Jason lifts his head unexpectedly, looking directly in Roy's eyes. His blue-green irises are smaller, swallowed up by the black of his pupils, and he's smiling, grinning, really, with his mussed hair and his red mouth and Roy is obsessed, he's knee-deep in love, he's gone.

"Anywhere else?" Jason asks again. He lets go of Roy's wrists to pull him further into Jason's lap, to press them up against each other until Roy can feel every hard contour of muscles in Jason's chest, can feel the hard, rabbit-fast beat of his heart, can feel the press of his cock against Roy's.

In response, Roy leans up and touches his lips to Jason's, not even a kiss, just a touch. Roy leans back and Jason follows, capturing Roy's mouth in an open, filthy-wet kiss, the taste of artificial red sugar flooding his mouth, Jason's tongue running over Roy's lips. It sounds dirty, the slide of tongue against tongue, mouth working against mouth. Roy needs to breathe, feels his lungs burn in protest, but he's twelve different shades of gone right now, his every thought Jason, his blood singing, his nerves firing and misfiring.

And all from a kiss.

Jason breaks the kiss, leaning back. His arms are still around Roy, holding him close, rubbing circles into his shoulders, his back. 

Roy wants to whimper, wants to demand another kiss, just one more, then he can quit, but he's too busy trying to catch his breath. He presses his forehead against Jason's chest, listening the thunder of his heart start to slow, his breathing become less labored. Roy unconsciously breathes to match Jason's every inhale-exhale, and mentally smacks himself when he realizes.

"You good?" Jason sighs. His voice is more feeling than sound from Roy's seat, but he nods against Jason's chest.

"'M fine, Jaybird," Roy mumbles.

"How's your head?"

 _Spinning,_ Roy wants to say. _I feel drunk, dizzy, high, on fire, I want to kiss you again, may I? May I?_

He says, "It's fine," instead. Jason's hands move to Roy's shoulders, tracing his tattoos idly, the calluses on his fingers rough against skin. The friction is delicious and Roy remembers that he's obscenely hard. So, not so fine at all.

"Good," Jason murmurs, "good. Are you okay enough to do this?"

Jason grinds against Roy, the press of their cocks together through sweatpants still tangible, and Roy gasps, tensing up so fast his muscles protest.

"Yes," he says--babbles, really. "Yes, please, again, Jay--"

"You don't have to--ask me twice," Jason says, pressing their hips together harder, harder. Roy wraps his arms around Jason's neck, while Jason's hands span across Roy's back, pressing him against Jason almost painfully close, painfully tight.

But Roy wants to crawl under Jason's skin, wants to live it in, so it's not painful at all.

"Jay," he sighs. The wet patch on sweatpants is getting bigger, pre-come soaking the fabric. "Jay, touch me, touch me," and it's more order than plea, or it would be, but Jason's already snaking one hand down in between them, the heel of his palm grinding against Roy's cock, and Roy moans.

"Yes, yes, like that," Roy says, snapping his hips up desperately against Jason's hand. "Like that, oh--"

"Hips up," Jason demands. "Up now."

Roy lifts his hips. Jason eases the sweatpants off of them, the brush of air against the bright red flush of Roy's cock soothing and too intense all at once. 

"Your turn," Roy says, snapping the waistband of Jason's boxers. "Off they come."

"Whatever you want," Jason drawls, but it sounds sincere. He slides his boxers off, freeing his cock to let it slap against his stomach.

Roy stares at it, imagines himself swallowing it, sucking Jason off, imagines it inside him, pressing against his pink insides, stretching him wide open. Imagines himself fucking Jason, the way it would twitch when he comes on Roy's cock. He's staring, Roy knows. He's probably drooling.

"What now?" Jason asks, tilting Roy's face up to look him in the eye.

"Huh?"

"I meant it when I said 'whatever you want', Roy," Jason says. Roy feels his heart twist, the lump in his throat enormous. He pulls Jason in for another kiss, this one no less intense than the last, ostensibly to give himself time to think, mostly to untangle the ball of emotion curled up in him.

"I -- jack me off?" Roy says. Jason nods, spitting into a palm, wrapping it around Roy's cock. He begins to stroke it, but Roy stops him with a hand. "Together," he clarifies, pressing into Jason's lap until their cocks line up, the press of hard, flushed skin making Roy dizzy. 

"Oh," Jason breathes. "I--I can do that." 

He readjusts his hand, stroking his cock and Roy's together, hard, fast twists at the head, fingernails scratching against the underside of Roy's cock. Roy tilts his head back and lets out a moan, a whine building up in the back of his throat. 

"Jay--Jay," he sighs. Jason's name falls from Roy's lips almost reverently. He should not be this far gone. He should not be this far gone on kisses and a handjob. But Roy is, and he can feel the buzz in his blood like adrenaline, like a drug, like an addiction. It only takes one try to get addicted, Roy remembers, and he has to bite back a scream because those are Jason's fingers sliding under his hoodie and twisting his nipples painfully. 

"What was that a-about?" Roy asks, but it's hard to sound indignant when you're panting as helplessly as Roy.

"You didn't look like you were paying attention," Jason murmurs. "Watch. You're close, aren't you?"

And Roy is. And he can see behind Jason's cool, calm façade that he's close too, the slide of his hand coming faster now, the twists sloppy, the muscles of his shoulders twitching. 

"C'mon," Jason babbles, kissing Roy again, more tongue than lips, wet, so wet. "C'mon, come, come, I wanna watch, I want you to watch, c'mon, Roy, come."

Roy does, managing not to shut his eyes, to watch the twitch of his cock as he comes, white spurting up against Jason's hoodie, down Jason's cock, and the sight of Roy's come sliding down Jason's cock is so hot Roy feels like he might get hard again. He reaches down, gathers as much of his come as he can, and starts jacking Jason off, his come smoothing the way, as Jason moans. 

"That's it, Jaybird," Roy coaxes. "That's it, just let go," and the feeling of twitching muscles, hot-wet come sliding down his hand makes Roy moan.

"Fuck," Jason says. He presses his forehead against the top of Roy's head. "Fuck me."

"Not yet," Roy says idly. “Maybe later.” The thrumming in his blood has lessened, fizzing out when he came. He's just.... content now, feeling floaty and dazed, the sweat on his skin cooling rapidly. He looks at his hand, covered in an obscene mix of Jason's come and his own, and brings it up to his mouth, sucking off each digit individually. He hears Jason's breath hitch, feels him lift his head to watch Roy. 

When Roy's hand is mostly clean, Jason yanks him up for another kiss, the salt-bitter of their come mixed with the sweet of red candy, and Roy whines in the back of his throat, desperate and needy. 

"So fucking hot," Jason sighs against Roy's mouth. "Why didn't we do this earlier?"

"Because we're both emotionally constipated assholes who are bad at feelings?" Roy replies, rolling off of Jason's lap to sprawl across the couch. Which they're going to have to clean. Roy files that away for later and stands up on his still weak knees. "First shower's mine," he says, moving in the direction of the bathroom. He stops only to pick up his sweatpants and dump them in the hamper.

"Here's an idea," Jason says, pressing up against Roy's back, "how about we share?"

There's still a buzz in Roy's veins, a high he has yet to come off, but it's easier, somehow, when Jason looks at him and smiles, dimple and eye crinkles and all. "I think I can do that," he says, leading Jason to the bathroom. "I don't mind at all."

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so stuck on my stephcass au that i banged this out instead and i sorta like it? miracles. 
> 
> my tumblr's @ ignahtasempria! concrit is always welcome, on both ao3 and there.


End file.
